


Intervention

by beformista



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Journalist!Vetinari, M/M, Policeman!Vimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29147169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beformista/pseuds/beformista
Summary: Havelock Vetinari visits Detective Inspector Vimes in his office.
Relationships: Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes
Kudos: 13





	Intervention

"Oh fuck no!" Vimes turned around and pressed his forehead to the door he just closed after himself, refusing to contemplate the sight of Vetinari sitting behind HIS desk, with his fingers crossed, naturally, looking like a boss about to make Vimes's life thousand times more difficult.

"Good morning, Detective Inspector," said Vetinari, completely unperturbed by Vimes's far from peaceful reaction towards his appearance.

Vimes sighed. Counted to ten. Contemplated punching through the door but then was forced to remind himself that the expanse of replacing it would be coming from his paycheck and the curious gazes of his co-workers through the resulting hole would be riding on his nerves. Turned around once more.

"I can kind of forgive you turning up on our crime scenes, considering your job and all," Vimes crossed the office and sat down in the visitor's chair that was far less comfortable than he imagined. "But how did you even get into my office?"

"One of your constables let me in," explained Vetinari.

"After you scared them to death and then some."

A slight, almost awkward smirk appeared on Vetinari's lips. "After I scared them to death and then some."

"Hm."

"Hm." Vetinari reached towards one of the document towers Vimes had on his desk, extracted the highest layer, skimmed through it and relocated it onto another tower. 

"So, what do you want?"

"The public wants to know, what does the New Pseudopolis Yards plan to do to solve the string of recent murders? I am a journalist, Vimes." Vetinari put a couple more documents atop his growing tower, crossed his fingers again and eyed Vimes reproachfully. Vimes fought the urge to start fidgeting and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, closed his eyes, frowning.

"There's been no string of recent murders. And I'm aware."

"Unfortunately."

Vimes looked up at Vetinari, confused. "What's unfortunate? The first thing I said or the second?"

"Should I be worried, Detective Inspector, about you having doubts?"

Vimes sighed. "Listen, I didn't even have my coffee, yet, and you can outsmart me even when I'm mostly aware of my surroundings."

"I brought you one," Vetinari put a paper cup in front of Vimes. The bottom of it perfectly matched a coffee ring on Vimes's table. 

Vimes grabbed it, took a sip, and made a satisfied, almost grateful sound. "So, what is it you want?"

Vetinari crossed his fingers again, raising one eyebrow and carefully watching Vimes. "Hm. Considering what happened the night before yesterday, I was wondering if an intervention is required. To make sure you don't get any silly ideas like never talking to me again."

Vimes briefly contemplated spitting out his drink like an uncultured character from a sitcom. While the idea held some merit, his table really did not need any more stains. He finished swallowing the coffee he already had in his mouth and carefully put the coffee cup on the table.

"Hm."

"Hm," echoed Vetinari. The tone of his voice evoked such words as 'amused' and 'gleeful', but a more experienced observer would probably pay more attention to how hard he was pressing his fingers together.

"Do not recall getting any of those silly ideas, no," said Vimes, after a period of uncomfortable silence.

"Good," Vetinari stood up, "then, I suppose, I shall leave you to your very important job, and we'll see each other in the evening."

"Good."

Vetinari walked around the table and squeezed Vimes's shoulder. "Have a good day." The door closed behind him almost without a sound.

Vimes, still sitting where he was, imagined once again releasing the tension by dramatically spitting drinks over tables or punching holes through walls. But in his mind, the idea of vengeance already took hold. After all, why put stains on his own table when he can annoy Vetinari immensely with doing it with his?


End file.
